Mind Games
by LCFC
Summary: Death has resouled Sam, but before he wakes – he spends time in a dreamscape where he forms an alliance with some very familiar individuals. Will they work together to help build the wall that Death insists must exist in Sam's fractured mind?


Sam woke up with a start.

There was a warm breeze on his face and something soft beneath his cheek. His head hurt a little but apart from that he felt ok and he opened his eyes slowly.

There was grass, flowers and rolling hills that over looked the ocean. Waves of blue and white crashed against a shingle beach and the sky was a mixture of azure blue and ominous grey. Sam frowned and rubbed at his forehead. His last memories were of plunging headlong into the gaping hole that was Lucifer's cage, of Lucifer screaming at him inside his head and of Adam's body following him down, the two of them falling, falling endlessly into oblivion.

Sam sat up slowly; this was not Stull Cemetery nor was it anywhere he recognised. He couldn't remember anything and he felt scared, his heart thundering in his chest as he wondered where he was and how many months had passed since his fall. His mouth was dry as he tried to remember something, anything but all it served to do was to make his head hurt more and he dropped his face into his hands and took deep breathes, telling himself that everything would be ok…

When he had calmed down enough he got to his feet; he felt a little wobbly but not too bad considering. He looked around him, at the steep drop below him, the oddly coloured sky above him and attempted to recall if he had ever seen this place before. He hadn't seen the ocean all that much as a kid and had only really had experience of living near it when he was at Stanford. This place was unfamiliar to him and there was no one around to even ask. The whole area was deserted, no animals, no birds, no humans and Sam felt out of sorts, his fear turning to terror as he realised just how alone he was.

Sam's natural instinct was to look for his brother; it was a fixation, a devotion even angels and demons could never understand. His last real words to Dean had been to tell him to find Lisa, to live a normal life but he doubted that his brother had done such a thing. He doubted that Dean would do anything that Sam asked him to because neither of them really listened to the other if it meant permanent separation, if it meant one living and the other being in hell. Sam wanted to find Dean so much right now but he had no idea how to start, where to go, whether to start walking in one direction or another. Sam shuddered and he looked up to see that the sky was growing darker, the winds whipping the swirling waters below into a maelstrom of chaos.

Sam felt the first drop of rain sting his cheek and he began to run; he had no idea where he was running or why but he just knew he had to get out of the storm. His breath caught in his throat as he ran upwards against the twist and whirl of the wind. His hair was whipping around his face and his clothes were soaked through and then – as sudden as it had started – the storm dissipated and the sky turned from grey to blue in an instant, the sun – once again – hot on Sam's face.

The landscape had changed; he was higher up now and the path was rocky, unstable. In front of him was a huge stretch of green which seemed to taper off into the horizon. He could see flowers blooming, smell lilac and lavender, the sweet scent of heather and brine assailing his nostrils. He walked forward a few steps and almost fell over something on the ground beneath him. He bent down and saw that it was a shiny black brick. He lifted it up and huffed at how heavy it was, wondering what it was doing there. For a moment he stood stock still and then he realised that the entire ground was – suddenly – littered with bricks, all shiny and black, all perfectly shaped and beautifully rendered.

"What the…?" he stepped over the bricks and tried to move on but his feet refused to move. Beyond the horizon the sky had turned grey again, so dark it was almost black. He wanted to move on, knew the he needed to if he was to find Dean and he took a deep breath, feet still going even though every muscle in his body was screaming **_STOP_**

"So you're back."

The first human voice he had heard; low and deep yet hauntingly familiar. He froze; his whole body as taut as a bow-string.

"Thought we'd seen the last of you," there was a sick humour in the voice, a flat, wry tone.

"Look…" Sam turned around with all sorts of words on his tongue but they all got stuck in his throat.

The figure behind him was very tall, broad shouldered, shaggy haired. The plaid shirt and jeans matched with a familiar brown hoodie the final giveaway. Sam's breath caught and his knees gave out; his palms hooking firmly on the grass to keep him from face-planting.

"Might have known that your – our – brother wouldn't let it lie," the other version of him smirked and Sam almost vomited, his mind playing over and over, shape-shifter, skin-walker, doppelganger, hallucination. "Had to get his doe eyed little Sammy back – never too keen on the stream-lined version."

"I'm…this is…is it hell?"

"Hell – nah – you are out of there now," the thing wearing his face moved a little closer and Sam saw expressions he had never nor ever wanted to see on his own face, "you are here now – in your noggin – and what an interesting place it is – although I have to say – not somewhere I really wanted to be."

"What the fuck are you?"

"No need for language Sammy boy. I'm not a what – I'm a you!" the thing sniggered, "I've been keeping this meat-boat shipshape and Bristol fashion for a year now, streamlined both in and out," long fingers gestured casually, "kept up the training."

"This isn't possible." Sam felt sick again and he heaved himself to his feet, hand covering his mouth, "this can't happen."

"I hoped it wouldn't but you should blame Dean – fuck Sam – you should know that our brother isn't one to let sleeping dogs – or should I say Sam's – lie."

"What are you talking about?" Sam felt odd having a conversation with himself but it seemed this 'other' him wasn't going away and it seemed that he might be Sam's only way of finding out what was happening to him.

"You were in hell Sammy," the other Sam cocked his head to one side, observing, eyes narrowing, "but Dean didn't like the way I was running this meat ship so he decided to get you out."

"What?" Sam swallowed, hard; he felt sick, panicked and he knew he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.

"Whatever – whoever brought me back bought back the best part," the other Sam grinned, expression smug, calm, eyes bright and without guile, "I was a good hunter, better than I'd ever been. I wasn't saddled with a soul Sammy – no guilt or angst, no need for long talks on the hood of the Impala, no real need for Dean. I killed evil things and moved on and I was doing ok until Dean decided he didn't like this version of his brother," he shrugged and wrinkled his nose, "so here we are – trapped inside your grapefruit and – Sammy – I have to tell you – it isn't exactly paradise in here."

"You've seen Dean?" It was an odd and inappropriate question given the circumstances but Sam needed to know. He might be hallucinating, dreaming or just plain insane but he still needed to know and – as always – his thoughts led straight to his brother. "How is he?"

"Weak and domesticated; a bit rusty in the hunt but useful," Sam watched as his doppelganger ticked off points by flicking at his own fingertips, "got him inside a vampire's nest by letting him get turned and he gave me some pretty good Intel."

"You what?" Sam's heart was thundering and he felt cold all over; from what he understood this – this thing – this robotic version of him had been walking the earth in his stead and he had let Dean get turned by vampires and then what? What else had he done? Sam's mouth was dry and his eyes stung so much he had to wipe at them, eliciting a sneer out of his double, cold hazel eyes observing him with some cynicism.

"Chill out," the other Sam said, finally, "he is alive and in one piece and still causing trouble if the fact that we are here as anything to do with it."

"Why are we here?"

"Dean got some idea in his head on how he could return your soul. Seems that Death offered to get it out of the cage and shove it back in. Something must have worked because one minute I was going to make sure it never happened by killing Bobby and the next minute I was here – inside this mushy piece of shit you call a brain."

"You were going to kill Bobby," Sam sat on the grass abruptly, the ground hard and cold beneath him. This was just getting better and better he thought, ironically; fuck he hoped this was a damn dream…

After that revelation they don't speak for a long, long time; Sam sits on the grass and watches the waves crack below. His double squats on the ground and runs long fingers over the bricks. He seems fascinated with them, head to one side, obviously trying to think of a logical reason for them to be there.

"What do you think they are?" Sam can't bear the silence any longer. His throat is sore and his eyes keep stinging but – for some reason – he hates that the 'other' Sam knows he has been crying. He doesn't like this version of himself but it seems to make sense somehow. This version of Sam had no conscience sure but he had no fear, no worries, no concerns and, in some ways, Sam envies him, envies the fact he wasn't constrained, wasn't held back by feelings, emotions, the things that weigh heavy on your soul.

"These are bricks." His double's face is blank but there is, unmistakable, scorn in his eyes, "they appeared around about the time you did. I believe they're connected to you in some way but I don't know how or why."

"Bricks for what?" Sam is aware that having a conversation with yourself is bizarre and unreal but there isn't anyone else here to talk to and he is beginning to feel odd and out of sorts, beginning to feel a little wobbly, the world around him tilting a little, sky turning from blue to grey to blue again, the ocean below him crashing against the rocks in a squall even though there is no wind.

"How do I know Einstein?" Other Sam openly sneers now, "I really am that fucking gawky – who knew."

"Look whatever has happened we are in this together," Sam shakes his head to clear it and the world rights itself for a moment, "whatever you think or want – we are both halves of the same whole."

"Thirds…" Another voice; hoarse, rough and unexpected echoes from beyond the horizon. Both Sam's turn at the same time and there is a figure emerging from the grey mist. The figure is tall but bowed, hair wild and hanging in a face that is lacerated almost beyond recognition, blood smeared over the skin, clothes singed and the smell of burnt flesh almost unbearable.

"Hello," Sam's double smirked again, tipping back on his heels and resting his fingers in his belt loops, "here's a surprise."

Sam swallowed back bile; he knew who this was, knew it but refused to believe it. His eyes flickered over to his 'other' self and – despite the cool, almost robotic appearance – Sam was pretty sure that he was feeling some unease – however faint.

"Who is he?" Even as he spoke he knew, knew exactly what was coming at him; at them from beyond the horizon.

"He's the Sam who remembers hell," his double said, "and if you thought I was bad – this one – this one is far, far worse…"

Sam stares at the figure looming towards them and he swallows back bile. He doesn't remember anything beyond the jump into the pit but looking at the wreck that used to be a man – that used to be him – he really doesn't want to. He slides his eyes over to his 'other' self.

"You don't remember either." He states.

"Not at all," soulless Sam shrugs and stares at the thing half hidden in the mist, "that is what makes me strong."

"I don't want to remember," Sam was confessing and it felt good but odd and he repeated it, "I don't want to remember hell."

"Who does?" his other self stared at the 'hell' Sam who was stumbling towards them, "but if your brother wants you to steer this meat boat then I don't see how it can be avoided."

Sam was shaking now and all around him the world seemed to tilt; the sky had turned black and the ocean was churning. A foolish, weak part of him wanted to hide behind his own doppelganger, take strength from his cold logic but he couldn't. This 'him' had put Dean in danger in favour of a hunt, this 'him' was too cold, too calculating and whilst those traits might be useful Sam didn't want to embrace them fully. He needed his humanity.

"Look…" he began but it was too late as the hideous, deformed version of him came close enough from him to almost touch, haunted eyes staring out of a damaged face, mouth turned down, salt tears flooding down bloodied cheeks. Sam stumbled back into his double and he wondered if he were truly dreaming or if he really was still in hell and this was part of the torture.

"You need to build a wall," the injured mouth barely formed words, "you need to take these bricks and build a wall – put me behind it," a trembling hand pointed, "and him…"

"Not gonna happen," the Sam with no soul sounded cold and determined, "I'm not giving up control without a fight."

"You have to," 'hell' Sam mumbled, incoherent and afraid, "if you don't then no one will be in control here – the three of us will cease to be and all the bad things that have happened to this soul will damage the body and mind beyond repair."

There was silence for a long moment and Sam had time to reflect on how bizarre this situation was. The storm that had been threatening had broken and rain hailed down on them, the wind whipping his hair around his face, the earth rattling beneath his feet. Bricks – hundreds of them – appeared on the grass and Sam bent to pick one up.

"We have to do this," he said.

"There is no we," his soulless self didn't look angry just frustrated, "this is all about you – gawky dewy-eyed milk-sop that you are."

"We can't survive like this," Sam said, gently, hoping that he could persuade his 'other' self to see the logic of the situation, "we can't survive fractured and broken."

"So you want to shove us behind a wall," soulless Sam laughed without humour, "make sure your noggin is trouble free."

"Do it," the other him; the damaged one, sounded more determined and Sam watched as he bent down and picked up a brick, blood smearing over the clean black surface, "we have to do it."

Soulless Sam shrugged and picked up a brick of his own; he glanced at the damaged Sam and winced, then, without speaking he stepped towards the damaged one and put the brick down so that it separated the two of them from Sam.

"I'm doing this to protect what I've worked for; strived for but I want you to know that I am totally against this and one day something will happen and this shit will come down and then," he smirked, "then it will be me back in charge."

Sam's mouth was dry; he felt confused, world tilting on its axis again, rain and wind biting into his skin. His shirt clung to his body and his head hurt, the urge to just lie down and sleep strong and driving but he began to lay down his own bricks, watching as they webbed together as if by magic, watching a wall beginning to form between him and the others, the three of them working together towards completion. He could see his damaged self staring at him through the storm, over the bricks as they built the wall higher, he could see the pain, the desperation in his eyes and he shuddered, praying that he never saw what this 'Sam' had seen. He watched the other, calm and logical, doing it because it was the right thing to do. He saw the cold eyes and the determined gaze, he saw that logical mind working, knew that this Sam was plotting for the day that the wall fell, scheming to take over again.

Then the wall was so big that he couldn't see them anymore and he stopped building; sweat beaded his forehead and the top of his lip but it was still raining, harsh and biting, the sky so black he could barely see. He closed his eyes for a moment and then, when he opened them again, he saw nothing, no ocean, so sky, no wall, nothing, just endless white like a nightmare hospital room. He felt sick and his mouth was dry and then all of a sudden he felt as if he were being sucked up into a vortex that he couldn't control and he knew nothing more.

Sam opened his eyes in the panic room; there was an IV in his arm and his head hurt a little.

He couldn't remember anything…

End


End file.
